BEYOND THE EMBERS OF VENGEANCE

The night rain over Chicago was heavy and freezing, washing neon light across the wet pavement of the Loop. Two days of silent travel by stolen vehicles and unmonitored back roads had brought them to the shadow of the elevated train tracks.

Anna sat in the passenger seat of an old sedan, her dark hair tucked beneath a woolen beanie, wearing an oversized black coat. Across the street, nestled between modern glass skyscrapers, stood an ancient, narrow limestone building: The Chicago Board of Trade Annex.

"Are you sure he's still alive?" Anna asked, watching two private security guards patrol the lobby with guard dogs.

"Vincent Vance doesn't die easily," Matteo said, checking the magazine of his sidearm before sliding it into his shoulder holster. "Arthur Vance's younger brother. He was disowned thirty years ago because he refused to traffic narcotics through the shipping lanes. He ran the family's legitimate real estate holdings."

"And Hayes trusted him?"

"Hayes didn't just trust him," Matteo said, meeting her eyes. "Vincent was Hayes’s primary confidential informant inside the Vance empire. If Hayes had a dead-man's switch, the backup decryption keys are in Vincent's private vault."

They exited the vehicle, slipping through the damp alleyway behind the Annex. Matteo bypassed the magnetic service lock with a pocket hacking rig, slipping through the fire door into the stairwell.

They climbed twelve flights in absolute silence, their boots making no sound against the concrete risers.

At the end of the twelfth-floor hallway, an ornate mahogany door stood ajar. The faint smell of pipe tobacco and burnt paper drifted into the carpeted corridor.

Matteo drew his weapon, motioning Anna to cover his flank. He kicked the door open with a single, controlled strike, clearing the corners with his barrel.

The room was vast, lined with towering bookshelves and Persian rugs. Behind a massive green-leather executive desk sat an elderly man with pristine white hair and wire-rimmed glasses, a burning briarwood pipe resting in an ashtray beside him.

Vincent Vance didn't look up from the document he was examining under the green banker's lamp.

"You took your time, Matteo," Vincent said, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. "I expected you yesterday morning."

Matteo didn't lower his gun. "Hayes is dead, Vincent."

"I know," Vincent replied, finally looking up. His gaze shifted past Matteo, locking onto Anna with piercing curiosity. "And you must be Anna. The maid who brought down a billion-dollar dynasty with a pair of tailor shears."

"We didn't come for compliments," Anna said coldly, stepping into the light. "We came for the dead-man's drive."

Vincent sighed, opening his desk drawer and pulling out a slim, encrypted titanium flash drive. "You're too late, Mrs. Rossi. The drive is active, but the hit squad wasn't sent by my family's board."

Matteo’s eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Arthur Vance had a silent partner," Vincent said, leaning forward. "A shadow investor who funded the private mercenaries. Someone you thought was serving a life sentence in Florence."